


Masks

by Kennel_Boy



Category: Batman (Comics), X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fusion, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-17
Updated: 2014-06-17
Packaged: 2018-02-05 00:53:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1799488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kennel_Boy/pseuds/Kennel_Boy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: Nightwing/Northstar. DADDY ISSUES. Blue-eyed, black haired, emotionally distant corporate CEOs who beat people up on their lunch break just do something for Dick...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Masks

Dick Grayson knew that it had been a mistake to dress casual. From the high gloss of the floor to the panel windows to the polished brass accents on the receptionist's desk, the highly reflective decor of the Wayne Building's lobby seemed eager to afford him every opportunity to meditate on how a windbreaker and jeans really did not fit in with the current aesthetic. Mister Wayne was very busy, and in fact, in a meeting at the moment. Perhaps he would like to leave his name? Make an appointment? Come back after dark, wearing something more appropriate to his position?

He drummed his fingertips across the backpack at his side, mentally running over the files tucked within. You weren't supposed to need an excuse when it came to visiting family, let alone a mask. He'd shown up with both anyway, just in case he needed something to edge him in between whichever half-dozen cases Bruce was bound to have demanding his attention. Just in case they needed something extra to help ignore the unacknowledged, half-resentful gulf that had sprung up between them since he'd hung up the pixie boots. Just in case the new Robin...

Dick rose to his feet with a sigh, wondering just when he'd regressed back into a needy kid. The Cuco ring couldn't be helping his state of mind, not if his reaction to the dead ends he kept hitting was to head back into Gotham and seek reassurance from Bruce, of all people. When he was in detective mode, when he dropped the Bruce mask and became the Batman, you didn't get reassurance, you got your mistakes highlighted and fed back to you. He could do that well enough on his own.

But one more fresh set of eyes might also get him a lead. A clue. Something he'd overlooked that would pin this bastard down and keep a few more so-called runaways out of ICU at Rabe Memorial...or the morgue.

The elevator at the back of the lobby chimed before he could sit back down. The doors rolled open for Bruce Wayne, who strolled out easily at the head of a dozen businessmen, his steps echoing on the tile. Dick recognized a few CEO's from various Wayne Corp subsidiaries, and not one of them looked happy to be there.

"Mr. Wayne, you have to reconsider -- "

"-- think of our bottom line -- "

"Gentlemen." Bruce didn't break stride as he spoke, only gave his disgruntled companions a winning, good-natured smile. "Believe me, I understand your reservations, but you're wasting your breath. I've shown you the aims of the Avalon Project, and I think it's worth throwing our weight behind. I invited you to hear this news first as a courtesy, not to open the floor to negotiations."

"Planning for the future is one thing," a white-haired man at his back protested, "but half of us won't be around to see the benefits of this proposal."

"And that makes it less worthwhile?" The arch, French-accented interjection did not come from Bruce, but from a lean figure already breaking away from the pack. He was younger than most of the gaggle, likely only a year or two Bruce's junior, and looked as if he would have had to put forth real effort to give less of a damn about the fuss going on around him. "Short-sighted thinking indeed, Monsieur Parkins, but perhaps that would account for all of the profit your company did not turn this quarter."

"Mister Beaubier, this is not a laughing matter! If you -- !"

"Dick! What a surprise!" Bruce stepped away from crowd, effectively dismissing the subject as he headed over to clap his ward's shoulder. "I wasn't expecting to see you back in Gotham so soon."

Dick returned the smile, trying not to read anything into his mentor's words as he caught Bruce in an handshake. "Blüdhaven has its charms, but there's no place like home, right?"

"We'll have to catch up later." Bruce nodded toward the front entrance, where a dozen reporters and their crews were waiting. "They're all here to talk about WayneTech's newest collaboration. You'll be around later tonight, won't you?"

"Alfred would never forgive me if I wasn't." His grip on the backpack's straps tightened. If he said anything more, he wasn't going to be able to hold on to his pleasant facade. There was no use even pretending that had actually been a question, and it had been stupid to expect it. This was Gotham. Batman's city. Batman's rules. "You'd better get out to your adoring public before they break down the doors."

It was bright and cold out on the street, with a strong breeze kicking up. Dick trailed behind the pack of suits, drifting off to one side to watch the interview. The wind kept snatching voices away, blowing trash into the shots, and so he didn't think much of the cameraman shifting position...until a strong hand grasped the back of his neck and cold metal pressed against his throat. The smell of gun oil hit the back of his throat with his next breath, then the cameraman was bellowing next to his ear.

"Wayne! You meta-loving race traitor! I know what you're doing, collaborating with MacTaggart against your own kind!"

As the muzzle of the gun dug into the soft skin under his jaw, Dick felt only a flicker of annoyance. He could think of a half-dozen ways to drop this clown -- but not in broad daylight and in front of a half-dozen reporters, not without drawing more attention than he wanted. He could trip him up, and maybe get his hand on the safety as the guy went down. Pass it off as "Once an acrobat, always an acrobat." No, too much chance of that gun going off and hitting a bystander. This clown needed to go down quick and hard and he needed to stay down.

Dick saw Bruce starting to shift his weight, the determined set of his jaw making it clear that he already had a plan, and his annoyance gave way to resignation. He'd been in Gotham for maybe an hour, and already he was back to being Robin the Boy Hostage.

A blur of motion shot past the corner of Dick's eye. The muzzle twitched against his skin and he flinched unconsciously, waiting for the gunshot. Then the pressure was gone, and he was pushed aside. An instant later came instead was the dull ping of metal against the sidewalk, the beginnings of a startled squawk from the gunman, and the familiar sound of a fist connecting with someone's jaw, all in a rush, leaving Dick staring at the back of a dark-haired head. The hand on his neck slid away as the cameraman crumpled to the ground on top of the litter of ammo and component parts that had been his weapon.

"How...?" Dick glanced over his shoulder. Bruce hadn't even had a chance to move yet, and looked as startled as Dick felt.

"It is the major failing of Americans," Dick's rescuer remarked, "that you cannot be bothered to pay attention to anything outside of your own country. I like to think he would not have been so stupid as to try that in front of me otherwise." It was Beaubier again, arms folded over his chest as he gave the unconscious gunman a disdainful glare. He paused to brush a lock of hair back into place, revealing a sharp, elven point to his ear, then turned his attention to Dick. "But I suspect I am giving him far too much credit." Icy blue eyes gave Dick a perfunctory once-over. "You are uninjured, I assume?"

"Yeah. Yeah, just a bruise." Nightwing was well-acquainted with speedsters, but Dick Grayson had to look suitably awed for the sake of the cameras. He put his hand up to rub the throbbing spot on his neck, trying to look unsettled. He found it wasn't all that difficult in the wake of his unexpected rescuer. "That was really...thanks."

Beaubier waved off his thanks, then rolled his eyes as the reporters recovered and began to crowd them. "And here come the vultures," he muttered under his breath. Louder: "Didn't you people have a more interesting story to pick over?" 

"Never let it be said that Gotham isn't grateful to its heroes, Jean-Paul." Bruce shouldered his way through the ring of microphones to stand beside Beaubier. "You have to admit, that was amazing."

"Not by my standards, Monsieur Wayne. If you will excuse me, I believe these people were here to speak to you." He didn't bother trying to push his way through the reporters -- a moment of flight had him up, over, and walking toward his limo, giving the newshounds the option of chasing him or going back to a more cooperative source of sound-bites. A moment later, Bruce was again fielding questions while security collected the gunman.

Out of the limelight again (and grateful for it), Dick watched as Beaubier's car pulled away, his lips quirked in a smile despite himself. More than the man's name, something about that power-set combined with that much arrogance tugged at a memory that refused to come loose. But it would be easy enough to find out.


End file.
